


These Eyes of Mine

by TheMulletWhisperer



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Action, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Enclave, Enclave Character(s), Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Smut, F/F, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Major Character Injury, Morally Ambiguous Character, References to Fallout: New Vegas, Sad, Sad with a Happy Ending, Scars, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-29
Updated: 2019-04-21
Packaged: 2019-12-26 04:16:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18275597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMulletWhisperer/pseuds/TheMulletWhisperer
Summary: As another chapter of her life draws to a close, another disaster to add to the growing list, and the greatest heartache she's ever endured, Victoria finds herself thrust into a hostile world completely alone. Her past--and present--affiliations paint a target on her back for all to see. As she hides herself from the rest of the wasteland, another comes along who promises to heal her pain. Someone who must never know who she is.





	1. The End

**Author's Note:**

> Take note kids, this is a lesson in hubris. I was sitting here thinking "Boy, maybe I Can finish my fics that I haven't finished in literal years without getting another idea". But no. I was wrong. So here's this. 
> 
> This is going to be pretty sad and the character might not be the most likeable at first, but stick with it (assuming I ever finish it) and everything will become a lot clearer.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's all over, the dream brought to its end. 
> 
> The battle cry of freedom falls silent.

Victoria drove the tip of her shovel into the rough dirt, disturbed by her digging. Numbly, she sat back on the lip of the concrete walkway, soft green eyes sweeping across the sight before her. The blood on her hands had only recently dried, her shifting fingers cracking and flaking the dark brown crust. Somewhere in the back of her mind she knew she was crying, her hands were trembling and her lip was quivering, but that numbness stayed at the forefront, clouding her vision and her thoughts. 

Her fingers picked at the blood, scraping it off with her nails and watching it settle on the ground alongside her tears. She looked back up, her eyes flitting between the names carved on the crude wooden crosses of the graves, the freshest not even ten minutes old. Each name sent a jolt to her heart until she felt as if she were about to burst, the pressure in her chest overwhelming. 

For only a moment she attempted to hold back her emotions before she began to sob in earnest, burying her face in her hands and pulling her knees to her chest. In all her years she’d cried only a handful of times, but there had always been someone to comfort her, someone at her side to help her through. No more, though. The truck stop was empty, no boots to mark the dust and no voice to break the silence. She was alone for the first time in her memory—truly, devestatingly alone. 

The pain in her heart refused to subside, spilling over into her chest until it felt as if she’d been shot. Where once flames had engulfed her from the outside, so now did they from the inside as well, gripping her very soul and wringing every drop of emotion from her.

Only once night began to fall and a chill settled in the air did she finally stand, uneven and shaky. For the last time, she approached the grave she’d just dug, pulling the medal from her chest and laying it on the mound of dirt. 

“Goodbye.” She whispered, the word catching in her throat and threatening her with another bout of tears. Although she found it difficult, nearly impossible, to turn away, she summoned the willpower to do just so, trudging back to the side door of the Red Rocket and pulling it open before shutting it behind her.

The entire building had been sealed off a long time ago when they’d first arrived, and they’d only fortified it more since. Not only was it almost weatherproof, but also bulletproof. The sickly green tiles had been pulled up and replaced with rough, untreated planks, and the lights had been rewired to the generator on the roof. Though it was warm and inviting, it had never felt quite so cold and empty as it did now. 

Victoria stepped into the garage-turned-living quarters and made for the sitting area, barely managing to reach the couch before collapsing. The beds were only a few feet away, but it almost felt wrong to be comfortable now. Even so, she produced the set of blankets and pillows from beneath the couch and made hersellf as comfortable as possible, pulling her legs up to her chest once again and hugging herself. Her uniform was still stained in blood and her hands were still coated, but she didn’t care, not tonight. She couldn’t bring herself to make the effort. 

Quietly, she turned her eyes to the two flags that hung adjacent on the wall across from her, just behind the television. One, the flag of the old world, the 13 commonwealths of America and the history of what had brought them to this moment. The other the flag that had taken the lives of the only ones she knew, the only ones she held dear. The black flag and the 12 stars, the flag of the Enclave, proudly illuminated. 

A wave of anger rushed through her at the thought of all that had happened, but as she looked instinctively for the arms of another, it was overtaken by a wave of grief that followed shortly after. All at once the tears started again and she buried her face in the pillow, wracked in guilt and pain, anger and fear. It would be hours before she would become tired enough to sleep.


	2. The Beginning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pain eats away at her soul, darkness blocks her sight for miles still. 
> 
> Somewhere there is a shimmer of hope, but she has yet to see it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't really have anything to say here. Why did I make a note then you ask?
> 
> Shut up.

Victoria’s sleep was fitful and she found herself jolted from her sleep several times. Although there were no nightmares, the fond dreams and memories brought her back to reality in search of what she’d seen. Every time she thought, if only for a moment, that she’d feel those arms around her waist again, before she realized what reality was. Every time she cried herself back to sleep.

According to the clock, it was just past 7 A.M when she gave up on trying to sleep anymore and slid off of the couch, leaving the sheets and pillow in a mess behind her. She pushed through the heavy door back into the station proper and made for the back room—the makeshift bathroom they’d set up. The plumbing in the truck stop was dubious, but Jackson had set up a makeshift system that drained into the mole rat caves just beneath them. 

Instinctively, she shut the door behind her, even though there was no point to privacy anymore, as she approached the sink, propping herself up on the edges and staring into the mirror. 

The sight that stared back was horrific, something she often forgot. What parts of her face weren’t covered in patchy burn scars were filled by regular scars, mapping across her sharp features. It had been well over a decade since she’d suffered the injuries at Raven Rock, and any hope she had of fixing them had been dashed long ago.

She turned on the sink and ran her hands under the frigid water, scrubbing off the flaky blood and forcing herself not to think about where that blood came from, diverting her mind instead to thinking about her injuries. Before she knew it, her hands had been scrubbed raw.

Victoria ran a wet hand through her short, unkempt hair, taking a deep breath and pulling the least dirty towel from the rack next to her, drying herself and once again stepping out of the bathroom. Just across from her was where the rations were kept—mostly pre-war MREs and bottled water. However, as she opened the defunct refrigerator, she found only a few packets and bottles left, only enough to keep her eating for a day.

Quietly, she glanced down at her uniform, the light olive stained a deep brown. Aside from needing food, she also needed to find someone to wash her clothes. For a moment she grappled with herself before grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge and shutting it behind her as she returned to the communal room. 

Tucked beneath one of the beds was her personal footlocker, from which she pulled a set of civilian’s clothing. A well-worn blue and black flannel, torn blue jeans, a pair of black combat boots, and a baseball cap to hide her disfigured face. Beneath this was also a postman’s bag that bore a novelty, cartoonish recreation of the California bear before it had grown an extra head.

In a familiar silence, she removed her uniform and stepped into the clothes of another wastelander, a woman who walked the streets of the Commonwealth. Her alter-ego was well-developed, as had been the others’. Despite the war with the Brotherhood never quite reaching the ears of the Commonwealth, the place still teemed with migrants and mutants from the Capital and the NCR who knew all too well the meaning of the word Enclave and the black flag that went with it. With the remaining command structure a thousand miles away in Chicago, the personnel spared the Brotherhood purge in D.C were alone and forced to shed their identities. Her group had been among the few remaining who dared wear the uniform and to fly the flag anymore, even if they hid in the cities. 

Now, however, without the support of a team, she wasn’t certain if she could safely continue as she had before. 

With a small sigh, she removed the Velcro patch from her uniform—the only identifier of her allegiance—and stuffed it into her bag along with the bottle of water and a box of bottlecaps. With one last look around the room, she fastened her laser pistol to her belt and stepped out of the garage once again, locking the door behind her and leaving behind the truck station for the time being as she began to make her way toward Concord.

* * *

 

The hours-long walk across the bitingly-cold winter of the Massachusetts wasteland took its toll on Victoria, but she continued walking despite the clicks and pops of her joints. Although the road from Concord to Boston was dangerous, she’d managed to make the trip relatively unmolested save for a couple of ferals and a particularly determined mole rat.

As she rounded the corner the green wall of Diamond City came into full view. Although they tried not to visit too often for fear of being caught, it was becoming more of a necessity as the cold weather began killing off the less hardy crops at the old Abernathy farm and the heavy raider presence drove off the radstags. The group had come to rely on trade with the stores, though they never stayed for more than a few hours at a time.

Victoria passed through the ramshackle checkpoint and approached the front gate, only to find it shuttered off. Instead, there stood a woman in a red trench coat—the local reporter, as she recalled from past visits—yelling at the intercom. Although she was tempted to simply push her away and demand to be let in herself, she opted to remain as non-confrontational as possible, both lacking the strength and will to impose herself at the moment. 

“Goddammit Danny!” The woman growled, mashing the call button on the intercom until she noticed the newcomer standing patiently behind her. “Hey, you. You want in, right?” 

Victoria lifted her head slightly, “Well, I—”

The reporter waved her hand dismissively, “Shh, play along.” She proceeded to spin a rather unelaborate tale about Victoria being a trader, though it seemed to do the trick as the guard capitulated and opened the shutters. The woman smiled, “After you.”

Victoria could only force a weak smile as she entered, clutching the strap of her bag tightly as the cold winds were blocked by the city’s walls. Although the reporter had evidently taken some issue with the city’s degenerate mayor, she didn’t stick around to listen to the argument, simply brushing past the two and entering the city proper. 

Although she despised what it stood for, the city was admittedly impressive, the high walls blocking out both wind and intruders and providing a sanctuary for anyone inside. Just like the old battleship in D.C, the vagrants of the wasteland had set up a thriving, bustling community. A church, a barbershop, food suppliers, even a local newspaper. It captured something of the spirit of old America, but failed to live up to its glory. The hollow shell of a pretender state squatting in what should be America, inhabited by those who likely didn’t even understand the name. 

A small, resigned sound escaped the back of her throat as she descended the stairs and passed by the bustle of the city. The priest speaking to his devoted, the child handing out newspapers, the paranoid conversations at the barber shop, the broken robot and the disgusting chem pusher, all contributing to the cacophony of civilization. 

Eventually she arrived at the general store, run by the crazed, paranoid woman and her robot. 300 caps netted her a box of various fresh produce with some old pre-war preserved foods scattered about. Further into the city was Sheng Kowalski, a child forced into business by the failing governance of the city. 80 more caps was enough to buy drinking water for a week. Finally, Becky Fallon agreed to clean the blood out of her uniform for most of what she had left. By the time her trip was finished, the sun had begun to sink over the cusp of the wall and she found herself with only thirty caps to her name—enough for a small meal and a room at the Dugout Inn. She’d stayed only once before and found the place repulsive, but to save her a walk back to the truck stop at sunset was enough to motivate her to stay the night. 

It seemed, as she entered the inn, that she’d picked just the right time for seemingly everyone to arrive. Countless unimportant denizens of the town, along with the bumbling radio personality and the reporter she’d seen earlier. Paying no mind to the pre-drunken pickup lines thrown her way, she approached the counter, keeping her head tilted down to hide her face. “I need a room and whatever food is the cheapest.”

She began counting out her caps when the man—foreign accented, possibly from Communist Russia—returned her total. “Fifty-seven caps.” 

Victoria paused, blinking for a moment and recounting what she had in her hand. For a moment she didn’t register what was said before she spoke up, “I… only have thirty. Nevermind then, just give me the room.” She felt her voice crack slightly. Although she was no stranger to hunger, and was hardly weak-minded enough to be so upset over not being able to eat for the night, the frustration piled on top of the exhaustion and emotional misery was seemingly becoming too much for her to take. 

However, just as she went to take her key and leave, a voice beside her cut through the chatter, the same voice that had dragged her into a lie mere hours before. “I’ve got her covered, Yefim.” The clatter of caps on the bar followed soon after and Victoria couldn’t help another small smile in the direction of the red-jacketed woman. 

“Thank you.” Her voice was uncharacteristically small as she took the plate in front of her. It seemed the cheapest food at the time was a cut of poorly-grilled mirelurk. Although she wasn’t terribly happy about it, her stomach spoke louder than her mind. 

“Happy to help.” The reporter’s voice was chipper—almost too much so, and Victoria couldn’t help but laugh a bit on the inside. If only that woman had known who she was, perhaps she wouldn’t have been so.

Without another word, she took to her room, setting down the food on the end table and locking the door behind her to ensure she wouldn’t be disturbed. As she sat down on the edge of the bed to eat, however, a crinkling noise from her back pocket drew her attention away. 

She reached back, fingers finding a piece of what felt like cardstock in her pocket. Carefully, as not to tear it, she removed it and flipped it over in her hands, staring for a moment at the image. Two smiling faces, a picture she’d forgotten she’d taken. They’d found a camera in an old hardware store a month ago and had more fun with it than they’d had in a long time. 

Victoria was pulled from her memories as a tear splattered over the surface and she quickly dried it off with her thumb, setting it aside before she could ruin it any more than it already had been. Resting her elbows on her knees, she hunched forward and wiped her eyes, pulling off her hat and taking several deep breaths. 

Despite herself, she couldn’t help the memories that kept flooding back, though she tried her damndest to distract herself with the plate of food in front of her. Even so, the distraction only lasted as long as the food did, and soon she was once again curled up in a bed.

Just like the night before, she cried until she slept.


	3. Paper Scars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Her pain is a blade, tempered and sharpened by fear. 
> 
> Perhaps to wield it is a mistake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has gone through some heavy edits so I'm not sure if there are any non-sequitrs left in here. If there are let me know and I'll fix it!

_ Wake up.  _

Victoria aoke with a gasp, her eyes snapping open and staring up, though they found nothing. She lay in a void, blackness all around her. Next to her was a large knife, thick and serrated. All around her there was silence as she stood, spinning around in confusion.

All at once, the darkness lit up in brilliant, bright colors, blinding her for only a moment before her eyes adjusted. Without much reason, she began walking forward, almost entranced. It was a time, though she could not measure it, before she reached a tear in the light, in the bright, colorful empty void. 

She stepped through the tear and found herself in an arena, illuminated by a hanging cage within which something burned bright. The concrete around her was stained with blood and bodies lay scattered. The silence was overbearing and oppressive, broken only by the crackling of the flame above. 

All at once, a great crash rocked the building as something barreled through the walls and came to stand just beneath the cage. A large bear of two heads standing taller than her, its fur matted with blood and gore. On its back rode a man in power armor, clutching a spear. 

The bear charged her and she scrambled out of the way, clutching her knife tighter and watching as it came around for another attack. The beast was vicious and crushed the bodies in its path. A gored bull, a snake, a dog, and countless others she could not indentify. Once again she jumped out of its way, narrowly avoiding the swipe of the spear. 

As it turned its back she pounced, sinking her blade into its left neck. The beast made a horrible screech that filled her head as it fell to the ground, thrashing and bleeding. Once again she stabbed it, this time on the right until it stopped moving.

Falling backwards, she scrambled to face the man in the power armor, though it seemed her job had been done for her. He had been crushed beneath the mass of the bear, a casuality of its demise. As she waited for whatever would happen next, a horrible clanging noise sounded from behind her. She spun around and faced the intruder. A power-armored man again, though this time in the T-45 model rather than the T-51 model. He stood still as she charged him, and as she reached his face he swung a blade, flaming and brutal. Although her blade sunk into his throat, she felt the flames engulf her face and she fell to the ground, clawing at her skin in a desperate attempt to put it out. 

However, as she pulled her hands away, bloody and burned, she found there was no pain. A third man appeared, power armored once more. She charged him, filled with bravado, but found herself lacking as he grabbed her by the throat. For only a moment she struggled before he tightened his fist and crushed her neck.

* * *

 

Victoria awoke with a gasp, her eyes snapping open and staring at the ceiling. With a hard blink, she sat upright, bending her right leg experimentally. A dream, it had been a dream, but of what she wasn’t certain. Her nightmares had rarely been symbolic, though they did happen on occasion, this was very,  _ very  _ new. 

She swung her legs over the side of the bed, grabbing the clock on the table. Darkness, as she should’ve expected. No doubt the material that had backlit it was long dead by now. Reaching over, she clicked on the lamp and looked down at the clock. 9:43 A.M, just in time to retrieve her uniform from Becky.

Carefully, she collected her things and packed away everything she'd brought with her before exiting the room and locking the door behind her. Already she was tired of Diamond City, the smells, the sounds, the patently primitive atmosphere of it all, however she was stopped in her tracks as a familiar red sweater standing in the bar caught her eye. 

Brotherhood. 

Unbridled anger boiled inside of her and she felt her chest heat up in the space behind her ribs. The pit of her stomach twisted into a knot and she rested a hand on her pistol, fighting every urge she had not to burn a hole right through his chest. Despite it being morning, the inn was still serving customers, the Russian was sitting behind the bar and the soldier was speaking to the reporter. 

Victoria shut her eyes and took a deep breath through her nose, taking a moment to breathe in and out before she relaxed her hand, turning and trying to slip out unnoticed. 

As fate would have it, she experienced no such luck. 

“Hey, wait up!” The reporter called after her and Victoria couldn't help but cringe, turning back to face the woman chasing after her and keeping her face angled down. She kept one eye on the Brotherhood scribe who seemed to take little interest in pursuing the reporter, simply returning to the bar and striking up a conversation with the bartender in the yellow blazer that barely fit him.

“What do you need?” Victoria turned her attention back to the woman in front of her , crossing her arms over her chest. She was close enough to smell her—surprisingly clean for a wasteland vagrant. She supposed someone had a shower running in the area and she was almost tempted to seek it out. Almost.

The reporter angled her head down to glance under the hat, seemingly trying to confirm something before she nodded and responded, “A couple of people around here were talking about ‘the lady with the scars’.” She paused a moment, seemingly waiting for Victoria to shoot back a sound of disgust, but when nothing came, she continued. “I run the local paper, a lot of people are talking about you. Would you be interested in doing an interview?”

Victoria took a breath in to refuse, but when her eye caught the Brotherhood soldier at the bar, her mind shifted and she found herself thinking back to her old military books. Disinformation and propaganda. A moment passed and she nodded, removing her evidently ineffectual hat and stuffing it into her bag. “Sure, miss…” She paused, pointing at the reporter and waiting for a response.

With a smile, she held out a hand to shake. “Piper. C’mon, my office is just outside.” The two left together and Victoria caught herself taking a bit of a closer look than she should’ve. This ‘Piper’ was rather beautiful. Long, clean hair, beautiful eyes, and what looked like a great fashion sense and a body to match.

Victoria took a sharp breath, angling her chin to the side and looking down, pausing in her tracks for only a fraction of a moment to re-compose herself.  _ This is wrong _ , she told herself, shaking her head.  _ She’s a vagrant, Victoria. Wait for the pain to pass and clear your head.  _ With a resolved hum in the back of her throat, she fell silent and allowed Piper to lead her into the press office, keeping her eyes forward the whole time. 

As the two passed through the door, the smell of paper and ink hit Victoria like a rampaging super mutant. It seemed this wasn’t just a two-bit tabloid after all, if the supplies scattered everywhere were anything to go by. Even better for her purposes. “Go ahead and take a seat, miss…” It was Piper’s turn to ask for a name. 

“Victoria Marsh.” She responded on instinct as she sat on the couch, but soon regretted her decision when she realized the newspaper would be circulating publicly. “But uh… if you could keep my name out of it?” She did her best to stay polite through the haze of stress she was under at the moment. 

“Can-do, Victoria. Now,” Piper collected a notebook and a pen, clicking her writing instrument and taking a seat herself in a chair across from the couch. “You’ve got a  _ lot  _ of scars, people around the town have started to talk. You’re a botched synth project, you fought a flaming deathclaw, and I thought you might want a chance to tell them what  _ really _ happened.” She leaned forward, watching the woman intently. 

“Well,” Victoria began, leaning back in the couch and mustering up the story she’d been crafting on the way. “I was with a group in Wash--er, the Capital Wasteland, I guess. That’s a place about two or three weeks south of here. Anyway, I was with a group of scientists back in 2276, we were trying to gather up a lot of special tech, trying to help people.” She took a deep breath, covering for the fact that she’d forgotten the next part for a fraction of a second before she continued, “The Brotherhood had a really large presence down there, and they didn’t take kindly to people with anything more advanced than a .22. They raided our base and started killing our people when we refused to hand over what we’d collected.” Victoria reached up and touched one of the many burns on her face. “I stayed behind and got some of our people out when I was caught in the blast of an incendiary grenade. The only reason I’m alive right now is because they missed the nurse handy we kept around.” She fell silent and nodded to Piper, indicating her story was over. There had been a taste of truth in the story, but most was fake. No matter how much she wanted to tell of the brutalization of the Enclave, she couldn’t risk exposing herself. 

Piper raised her eyebrows, “Wow. That’s a hell of a story, Vic. Do you have anything you want to say to the people about the Brotherhood?” She turned her eyes back to Victoria. As the two locked eyes for a moment, she saw real sympathy in the reporter, more than she’d been shown by anyone outside of her team in a long time. 

Victoria nodded, shifting slightly, “Yeah. Don’t trust the bastards. They’re going to tell you they come in peace, that they’re here to restore order and to protect you, but that price is too high. They’re going to come barreling in, killing everyone who gets in their way on their half-baked crusade against the ‘misuse of technology’. They’ll bleed you dry and before you know it you’ll be trying to heal a bullet wound with a topical ointment because they confiscated all your ‘advanced’ medical supplies. And if you get on their bad side…” She felt herself choke up for a moment before composing herself again, “If you get on their bad side they never stop hunting you, they never stop trying to kill you.”

A silence hung over the two for a long time before Piper spoke up, “Thanks, Vic. That’s all I needed.” The silence returned for a moment before she continued. “I’ll get this to print right away, people should hear this. If you ever need help, you know where to find me.” She gave a small, geninue smile, and Victoria couldn’t help but return it. 

In a similar silence, she stood and left the building, making for Fallon’s Basement to pick up her uniform, and then home—the only place that would allow her to process the past day.


	4. Old Film

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The old world compels her from its grave of centuries. A world of hate and unrest. 
> 
> Her greatest dream to be its outcast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really surprised by how many chapters I've gotten out of this so far. I'm going to jinx myself by saying that I just know it.

**** By the time Victoria arrived at the truck stop the sun had reached its peak in the sky and it was as hot as it was going to get—although that wasn't saying much. Her breath was still fogging as soon as it passed her lips. Her bag, full of food, weighed heavy on her back after hours of walking. 

She flipped open the keypad they'd disguised as an electrical box and punched in the code,  _ “1776”.  _ The door mechanism beeped and the lock hissed as it popped open, allowing her to step inside. The warm air flooded from the room for a moment until she slid the door shut. All the space age technology and they still didn’t have doors that knew when to close on their own.

Not that they’d be getting it anytime soon.

Victoria set down her bag on the kitchen counter and pulled out a second, smaller paper bag she’d packed away the food in. There was significantly less—only enough to fill maybe one shelf in the refrigerator, but she was only feeding herself now. Produce went first on the middle shelf, then the pre-war snack foods on the top. The last two were reserved for the various drinks they’d scavenged up—beers and nuka-cola by the dozens. Not that they had enough bravery to drink some of them.

With an exhausted sigh she retired to the barracks, bringing with her a bottle of bourbon and an old whiskey glass which she set down on the end table next to the couch. Flicking off the lights, she approached the projector they'd set up on the far side of the room and flipped it on, digging around in the pile of holotapes for a moment before slipping one into the slot on the side. 

The projector whirred to life, bringing with it the title card of  _ The Maple War _ , a dramatization of America's annexation of Canada, made shortly after that particular war had ended. For the longest time, ever since her parents had shown it to her in their California bunker it had been one of her favorite films of all time. A reminder of what used to be.

However, as the movie played through the scenes she know by heart, she found her mind wandering, the burn of the bourbon doing very little to keep her grounded. Although it was inevitable that she would be brought back once again to what had kept her in pain the past two nights, she felt the desire to contront it.

But that would not be so. Instead she was taken further back, far further as she watched the secondary lead, Sergeant Martha Jones. A beautiful woman, the one who’d given her an idea of who she really was. Her parents had discouraged her, her COs, even the policies themselves had forbidden it. Humanity was a dying race that needed every man, woman, and child it could get. Emphasis on the child. But that had never interested her—in fact, it had been almost a scary thought to think of what she’d one day expected to do. No matter how much she’d killed for her country, the thought of falling into bed with a man had sickened her, so much so that the collapse of the Enclave’s command structure brought on a shameful relief that she’d always tried to suppress with about as much luck as she had suppressing her feelings toward women. Eventually it had become a part of her that she’d accepted.

America before the war was never accepting of that ‘lifestyle’ either. The attitude of the 1950s had persisted well into 2077 and only ended once the bombs wiped it out. The shambles that arose were admittedly tempting to her, the acceptance of the wasteland, but being allowed to kiss the person she loved wasn’t enough to draw her away from the allure of an America restored to its former glory.

Unwittingly she found her mind wandering back again to the reporter she’d given her story to—perhaps foolishly. A desire for revenge on the Brotherhood had driven her to it but she could help but wonder if it wasn’t also for a chance to look at her face. It was a passing interest but one nonetheless, and in light of her current situation she kicked herself for being so insensitive. 

By the time she’d pulled herself from her own thoughts the movie had reached its midpoint. The American soldiers storming Parliament Hill in their power armor. Unlike most movies,  _ Maple War  _ was grounded in its portrayal. No evil president twirling his moustache and stroking his cat moments before hopping into an earth-destroying mech and no square-jawed American heroes with a minigun in one hand and a bald eagle in the other. The soldiers were people, humans. Perhaps that had been what kept her coming back to the film. Over the years it had only grown in relevance as she watched the same happen to those around her, charged into battle alongside people just like Sergeant Jones only to watch them fall to some stray round fired by a Brotherhood auxiliary. 

War had never been fair but to the Enclave it had taken an evident special interest. Coalitions formed against them at every turn, Brotherhood soldiers launching attacks with war robots they had no right to, a crippled nation stumbling in the dark killing the only person who could bring them back to the light that they tried to emulate with a candle. Great enemies came together in triumph to stand over the broken corpse of America with no concern for who they’d killed. The people, to them, didn’t exist.

Victoria chuckled a bit, she knew that observation could be thrown back in her face. The worst elements of the Enclave didn’t even see the wastelanders as humans, simply mutants tainted irreparably by FEV and destined only to die at the feet of a ‘superior race’. Colonel Autumn, the insubordinate traitor, had thought the same and had paid for it just as the others so rightly had. If only he hadn’t brought the rest down with him. 

She ran a hand down her face, shaking her head slightly as she polished off her third glass of bourbon. By now the liquor was starting to get to her and the film had nearly reached its end as the President stood at the base of the CN Tower and delivered his speech to America. A message to all those that stood against them. She sighed deeply and sunk back against the couch, pulling the sheets off the ground and over her body. As the alcohol took its hold, she slept for the first time without tears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah this one was pretty slow and uninteresting wasn't it. 
> 
> Oh well.


	5. Printing Pressure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From the mouth of the deceived comes deception, from her hands comes ruin.
> 
> A spark in the darkness, a step toward repair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For some reason I had a LOT of trouble getting this chapter out. I wanted it to be longer but I had to cut it off because I physically could not write the next part for some reason.
> 
> Also this chapter was written piecemeal over a few days so if the writing quality wavers a lot that's why.

The printing machine whirred and rattled as it spit out another copy of the newspaper. Still warm, it was handed out to one of the many interested readers lined up for an issue. It was rare that the paper was this popular, but with the appearance of the Prydwen in the skies above the Commonwealth, uncertainty was endemic and when it came out that the Publick Occurrences had an answer to who this ‘Brotherhood’ was, copies began flying from the presses.

Piper handed off another stack to Nat, who in turn began handing them off to the waiting customers. “Wait your turn! Vadim! Back of the line!” She shouted to the crowd as they began crowding Nat. A loud shuddering sound brought her attention back to the printing press just in time for a jet of ink to spray from the mechanism and diffuse across her jacket, running down the front and leaving behind a large black patch. She barely had time to process first catastrophe when one of the many structural bars collapsed from it's housing and brought with it several different parts that looked rather important. The paper that had been printing ground to a halt as it was shredded from the back end and enveloped in a thick black smoke. 

In mild shock Piper stood, staring stupidly at the wreck in front of her that had only moments ago been humming along. Almost scared to face the crowd, she turned around and gave a smile that seemed to be more a half-grimace. “Uh… that's it, everyone! Presses closed!” 

The crowd didn't take kindly to this, but, seemingly trying to prevent a riot, the guards were quick to step in and disperse the crowd, leaving Piper and Nat standing there in silence. 

Her sister was the first to break that silence, looking up at Piper, “I told you we needed to get it repaired.” She crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes, looking far older than she was in her irritation. 

Piper held that half-smile, rubbing the back of her neck awkwardly. “Heh, yeah, I guess you were right. Sorry, kiddo. But hey, we can get it fixed no problem!” The half-smile turned into a full, confident one. 

* * *

 

“This is going to be a problem.” Piper muttered to herself, kneeling in front of the upturned machine. With her jacket being cleaned at Fallon's Basement, she was reduced to a dirty, low-cut gray tank top along with her usual dark pants and boots. 

Carefully, she picked at several of the damaged components, trying to assess the extent of the mechanical carnage she was looking at. What was obvious was that one of the load bearing struts had collapsed and the ink container had been crushed under the printing rotary, bent completely out of shape and seemingly unsalvageable. The weight had also bent several of the bolt holes out of shape, making it impossible to fit them back in. 

As she assessed the damage, a pair of heavy footsteps arrived behind her, the person to which they belonged clearing his throat impatiently. Piper sighed and waved him away over her shoulder. “Sorry pal, press is fucked. You'll have to find someone to share.” 

“Miss Wright, I need to speak to you.” The man's voice was filtered through something and, when she looked back, she learned what it was. A Brotherhood of Steel soldier, clad head to toe in a hulking suit of power armor with a gauss rifle strapped to his back. 

She scrambled to her feet and turned to face him, looking up into his the visor of his helmet. “Hey there, big guy.” She laughed nervously, rubbing the back of her neck and glancing at his feet for a moment. “I uh… guess this is about the article, huh?” 

The soldier nodded, glancing back at the broken press for a moment before looking back to her, “Yes. This woman you interviewed, the Elder wants to know her name.” He pointed back at the press, “If you help us we can assist in repairing your equipment.”

Piper looked back as well, shrugging a bit. “Sorry big guy, she didn't want her name published.” She turned her eyes back to him. “A journalist never reveals her sources.”

Clearly unhappy, the man nearly growled, his voice rumbling through the voice modulator. “We have reason to believe she might be dangerous. Any information you can give us will help make the Commonwealth safer for everyone.”

While the irritation in his voice unsettled her, she kept on a brave face. “Yeah, or you want to shut her up so she doesn't go around making you look bad.” She put up a hand, stopping him before he could respond. “Listen, I'm not going to give you anything so you can stop wasting your time here. I've got to get this thing fixed.”

Heaving a sigh, the man turned to leave. “Very well, citizen. If you change your mind just tell a scribe.” 

With that, he walked off, the footfalls of his armor clanking against the metal ramp out of the city. Piper heaved a sigh, pulling off her hat and running a hand through her hair. She had to admit, the story she was given didn't exactly add up, but she desperately needed something to get the public back on her side after the last print. Still, If what she'd said was true it was no wonder the Brotherhood would be after her. 

Once again she returned to her work, chewing on the inside of her lip as she tried to figure out how to fix this catastrophe. However, she was once again torn away by a voice from behind her, this time far more familiar and far less threatening than before.

“What happened here?” 

She turned around again, unwanted irritation bubbling up in her chest. Standing behind her was the woman of the hour herself, Victoria Marsh. Although she was trying her best to hide her face, it was difficult not to see what hid beneath her cap. That razor-sharp jaw, the deep and misty steel eyes, and those scars that somehow only added to her allure. If she weren’t so transfixed with the printing press disaster, she might have found herself blushing.

“Ah, the machine sort of… collapsed. I can deal with it though. Pr...obably.” Piper rubbed her hands together, turning sideways to look at the wreck behind her and to give Victoria a bit of a better view.

The two remained silent for a moment before Victoria stepped up onto the platform, crouching down and looking over the damage. “Wow, this is really fucked up.” She lifted up the printing roll and looked over the container. “I uh…” For a moment she paused, seemingly thinking her words over before she spoke. “I can probably fix this. I'm going to need to buy some special tools for it though and I'm out of caps.” She looked over her shoulder, her face completely neutral, though maybe it was just hard for her to make expressions through the scar tissue. 

Piper's eyebrows shot up in surprise at the unexpected offer. “Uh, yeah, If you can do that then I guess I can't turn you down. How many caps do you need?” 

Victoria poked the tip of her tongue out of her mouth, her eyes flitting about the floor of the press office for several seconds before she looked back up. “Eighty should do it, I think.” She gave a small shrug. “Maybe more.” She looked toward the market, brow furrowed in thought. “Do they take tabs there? I can grab what I need and have them bill you for it.”

Piper tried to respond several times before she finally got a word in edgewise. Someone who talked more than her was truly rare. “Yeah, just tell them to put it on my tab or… something. I'm not sure Myrna would take it though. Maybe wait until tonight when Percy comes out.” She spoke half to herself as she thought, crossing her arms over her chest and quirking her lips to the side.

Victoria waved the concern off, pushing up to her feet and removing her vest, laying it on top of one of the filing cabinets. “I’ve dealt with Myrna before, I can deal with her again. I’ll have this fixed up by tonight if nothing else goes wrong.” She ran a hand through her hair, turning back to face Piper. Although the corner of her mouth held what looked like the beginning of a smile, it was obviously being suppressed. 

Piper, on the other hand, didn’t hold back, grinning widely. “Thanks Vic. I hope you don’t mind but I’ve got to finish up some stuff inside. I’ll come back and check on you later.” 

Once again Victoria waved it off, “Go ahead, I don’t expect you to sit out here and watch me work all day anyway.” She pulled her bag off her shoulder and set it down on the platform, rolling up her sleeves and beginning toward the market before Piper could respond. Relief washed over her as she watched the woman walk away, staring for a fraction of a moment longer before returning to the office.


	6. Chocolate Smoke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chocolate smoke obscures what lies beneath, a bane.
> 
> The lights dim further in the darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm probably going to be switching character perspective every two chapters from here on out to keep things fresh in my mind.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

“Piper!” The door to the office burst open, startling the reporter from the couch. Despite what she was expecting, the woman who entered was not the handywoman of the hour but instead the vault dweller, the woman out out time, or sometimes just Reed—and one of the strangest people Piper had ever met in her life. 

“Hey, Blue! What brings you here?” She put on a smile, leaning forward as the vault dweller flopped down beside her, kicking her feet up on the table. Despite having only been in the wasteland for a few weeks at most, she looked like a proper wastelander. In place of what used to be a brand-new vault suit she wore a tan duster coat, a brown vest, and a red bandana scarf, her boots and dark trousers strapped with metal plates. Over her shoulder was slung a rifle she claimed was a 300 year old antique from the second biggest war ever and at her hip was a pistol she claimed was even older. She seemed to adapt in days, going from the fish out of water vaultie to a bonafide merc in the blink of an eye. 

“I caught the paper, you're damn good at makin’ me look damn good, you know that?” She gave a cocky grin. “Just wanted to pop in and say thanks, maybe invite you up north. I found some guys shacked up in Concord and they're rebuildin’ old Sanctuary under the guidance of yours truly.” The woman beamed, placing a hand on her chest. Her accent was strong but Piper couldn't quite place it. She claimed it was from someplace called ‘Navada’ but that name didn't ring much of a bell. Still, the drawl was rather pronounced. 

“I might just take you up on that offer, Blue. I've got a lot of stuff to deal with here though. Mostly fixing my press.” Piper muttered the last sentence to herself, rubbing the back of her neck. It wasn't that she didn't trust Victoria, but the woman had claimed to be a scientist, not a mechanic. 

“What, did my charmin’ personality break it?” That grin grew wider and Piper wasn't exactly certain how serious she was being. The interview they had—popular as it was—didn't give her a clear idea of just who she was dealing with. 

 _“What do you think of the Commonwealth now, 200 years later? Is it everything you hoped it would be?”_ Piper had asked during the interview, somewhat glib. She wasn't expecting the answer she received.

 _“The wasteland? It's fuckin’ great is what it is. Everything’s so… honest here. Some pushy fuck steals your shit or kills someone there ain't some ten-year trial that gets thrown out ‘cause some intern spilled coffee on an important document. Out here you just track down the little fuck and plant one in his head. Best part is everyone claps you on the back for it.”_ That response, no matter how good a quote it made, what came next almost seemed to be a complete 180. 

_“What would you say to someone who's lost someone?”_

_“Honestly? Move on. Make the most of your life. We've only got one shot here and you're not gonna be makin’ the most of it if you get yourself killed running off to avenge some great injustice. Most of us have got somethin’ in us, somethin’ great, but if you go chasin’ a kidnapper or killer or some shit you're just gonna get yourself shot. And then poof, there goes that great somethin’. Maybe they're dead, sure, but that doesn't mean you should be too.”_

A loud snapping brought Piper back to reality, her eyes focusing back in on the woman of the hour. “Earth to Pipes. You alive in there?” She blinked a few times, her eyes focusing back in on her companion.

“Sorry, I was just thinking about the paper.” Piper chuckled and produced a cigarette from her coat, perching it between her lips and flicking her lighter a couple of times before it lit up, monetarily illuminating her face with an orange glow. 

A comfortable silence settled over the two before Reed spoke up again. “So, who's that girl out there fixin’ up your press, huh?” She nudged Piper with her elbow. “You got a new girlfriend?” Her face wore a smirk as she watched the reporter's reaction. 

Piper laughed and blew a stream of smoke from between her lips before responding. “She's a friend. I guess. You know that article I put out about the Brotherhood?” She waited for Reed to confirm before continuing, “She's the one I interviewed. ‘The Scarred Woman’.”

Reed nodded and produced a smoke of her own from her duster, though this one was significantly larger. It seemed the woman had expensive tastes, despite what her wild hair and dirty clothing might say. The only time she smoked was the best cigars, the only time she drank was the highest quality bourbon, all scavenged from the highest brow clubs around Boston. She clipped off the tip of the cigar and lit it in between her lips. “Yeah, I read that one on my way in, Sullivan had a copy. These Brotherhood guys sound like real cunts. Always knew that Danse rubbed me up the wrong way. ‘Very well’ this and ‘civilian’ that, soundin’ like some guy out of the middle ages.” 

“Sullivan huh?” Piper returned the nudge. “You got a new boyfriend, Blue?” She chuckled, proud of herself for bringing the ribbing back around.

“Oh yeah, he's got a huge dick you know.” Reed turned to look at Piper's slightly uncomfortable face before her facade cracked and she grinned widely. “I'm just fuckin’ with you, I prefer a bit more up north and a bit less down south if you get me.” She puffed on her cigar for a moment before clarifying. “Pussy.”

Piper choked on her cigarette, descending into a coughing fit for a moment before coming out on the other side in laughter. “Yeah, Blue, I got that the first time, thanks.” She put out her cigarette in the ashtray on the table, standing up and stretching. “Well, it's been fun but I've got to make sure Vic isn't breaking the press even worse. Feel free to stay and…” She gestured vaguely around the shack. “Do… whatever. Just don't go snooping my notes.”

Reed laughed a booming laugh, standing up and clapping the reporter on the back. “Don't worry about me, I might be greedy but I ain't sleazy.” Her voice was loud in Piper’s ear, just as it always was when the vault dweller was happy. She silently hoped the people from this Navada weren't all so loud before the war because if so they'd probably have all gone deaf.

Piper stepped outside, waving to Reed and shutting the door behind her. Just nearby, however, she heard something that made her heart jump into her throat. 

A filtered voice and heavy footsteps near the press office. A voice carried from around the corner.

“Excuse me, miss.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this felt a bit off the rails but I assure you Reed will be a VERY important character to come.

**Author's Note:**

> NOTE: This work is not abandoned, no matter how long it's been between an update. I will continue to update it as possible but I have several multi chapter works that I have to work on as well. If you would like to catch the next chapter when it comes it, I would recommend subscribing to the work to receive a notification.


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